


Pathetic

by JustAReader23346798



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Crying, Cursing/Swearing, Graphic Self Harm, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, Self-Harm, self harm tw, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 09:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17805818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAReader23346798/pseuds/JustAReader23346798
Summary: After his intrusive thoughts start bugging him again, Virgil turns to his worst possible coping mechanism.





	Pathetic

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings For:  
> Intrusive Thoughts  
> Self Harm  
> Blood  
> Probably some other stuff
> 
> I do not encourage or intend to promote any of the behavior exhibited in this fic.  
> This is purely a vent Fic. More stuff at the end

I Virgil was lying on his side on his mattress.  
He’d just moved into his new apartment that week, and he hadn’t gotten the chance to fill it.  
Well, he had.  
There were plenty of boxes filled with things and furniture waiting to be assembled and he had plenty of time. It wasn’t as if he had anything to do.  
_(Like school or a job, no too pathetic to even try to-) ___  
He hadn’t had the _energy _to fill his apartment... yet.__  
So there he lay on a sheetless mattress that lay on his floor listening to the oddly soothing buzz of the air conditioning installed in his wall.  
From the either side of his apartment he could hear the gentle murmur of other people’s voices. Other people enjoying life, or at the very least living.  
Existing.  
Having a presence outside of their apartment.  
Virgil felt the warmth of something falling down his temple and he let out a slightly more exhausted breath.  
Either the ceiling was dripping again or he was crying, and judging by the new, slight blue to his vision he’d say it was the latter.  
Why was he crying? Honestly, he didn’t know.  
He felt terrible but his tears weren’t because of that. His tears were empty, void of any purpose or reason.  
They just fell out of his eyes and slid down his temple, a few rouge streams sliding down his cheek and grazing the edge of his mouth. He could taste the salt of his tears on the edge of his tongue and he cringed a little.  
‘Pathetic’ he though to himself, of himself.  
‘You’ve been here for almost a full week now and you’ve done nothing but lay on this mattress and cry. You’re pathetic.’  
Virgil covered his eyes lazily with his arm, not wanting to hear the thoughts that forced their way into his brain but also not having the energy (or the will) to do anything but cover his eyes and cry some more.  
‘Pathetic.  
Pathetic.  
Pathetic.’  
It kept chanting in his head.  
Not a voice, he wasn’t hearing voices. He was thinking this too himself about himself.  
And the thoughts were right.  
_He. Was. Pathetic. ___  
He had moved in on Monday, now it was Friday. He hadn’t left his apartment, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t spoken, hadn’t done ANYTHING but cry alone on his barren mattress since then. He’d replied to his friends when they texted him, but it was never anything more than ‘yes’, ‘no’ or ‘ok’ or something plain like that.  
That day Virgil hadn’t even had the energy to do even that.  
“Fuck...” he said to himself in a breathy whisper.  
He felt a vein sort of pulsing through his body and he forced himself to sit up.  
‘Pathetic. You’re fucking pathetic, Virgil.’  
The last part had sounded all too familiar and had taken form in an all too familiar voice.  
He lazily shoved a hand into his sweater pocket, fishing around until he felt the cold,sharp metal he’d been searching for.  
His fingers wrapped around the sharp little blade and squeezed it, using every ounce of effort left in his body.  
He pulled his hand out of his pocket shakily and opened his palm. He stared at the cuts that now littered his fingers and a bit of his palm. They were bleeding a surprising amount considering they were so small. Blood trailed down his fingers and combined at the middle of his palm, making one stream that flowed to a stop at the end of his hand.  
He dropped the blade onto his lap and turned his hand over to face the floor. He watched as his blood started to drip off his hand and onto the floor. It was slow and rhythmic: soothing.  
It soothed him to bleed like this.  
To cut himself.  
His lips twitched self consciously, Virgil not even noticing as he pulled up his sweater sleeve.  
Despite not having any energy- _to do important things like unpacking or filling out job applications or maybe even studying to try and reapply to college or _\- he had somehow found the energy to cut himself almost every day.__  
Sometimes multiple times a day.  
Because of that his arm was covered in red and pink scars. Some were deep and barely pink yet and others were so shallow that they were already sealed and beginning to heal over.  
‘No room...’ He thought to himself.  
There were no blank spots on his arm. No skin that hadn’t been cut. Red and pink was littered everywhere, leaving no where untouched.  
HE’D left no place untouched.  
‘What’s it matter?’  
It didn’t. It really didn’t, did it?  
He brought the blade to his skin, touching the edge to a spot in between two cuts.  
‘Untouched but not enough.’  
Did that thought even make sense? He didn’t know but he went with it anyway.  
Quickly he drew the blade through and out of his skin, crossing and reopening several other cuts on his arm.  
It didn’t hurt. It hadn’t hurt in a long time.  
He finally noticed his lips twitching, it had gone into a tiny smile.  
The cut had already begun to bleed, mixing the blood from the older cut with the fresh and recent one.  
The blood dripped down his arm quickly, the cold liquid tickling his arm hair on its way down.  
Virgil brought the blade back down to his arm, not waiting to watch it drip onto his jeans or his mattress.  
And he cut again.  
And again.  
And again.  
Over and over and over again until his arm was covered in bleeding cuts and there was a large stain of red soaking into his mattress. Barely visible red dots had landed onto his black jeans, his arm that was hovering over his legs was covered in blood and cuts.  
He’d started crying harder and panting heavily, though he felt no pain. His smile was no longer small and restrained but wide and earnest.  
He heard a ding come from his phone, bringing him back to reality.  
He stopped smiling when he looked at his arm, almost going back to whatever second plane of reality he’d returned from.  
He shakily reached for his phone and took it into his hand.  
It was a text from Patton.  
‘Hey Virge, you haven’t answered us all day and we haven’t seen you since Monday. Are you ok, kiddo?’  
With shaky hands and bloody thumbs, Virgil replied to his message, leaving blood on his phone screen.  
‘Yeah I’m fine.’

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been feeling extremely shitty (and depressed) all day and I haven’t been sleeping properly in like weeks?  
> I was getting the urge to self harm but I’m trying my best to recover from that shit so I wrote this instead.  
> Ig it worked cause I feel a little better.  
> Don’t worry about me though, lol. I’ll be fine  
> Hope you enjoyed this fic!


End file.
